


To Touch You Is To Know You

by deklava



Series: The Man Who Beat Sherlock [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, Immobility, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Oral Sex, Riding Crop, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:13:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deklava/pseuds/deklava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Part of him- the dark side that made him rich and infamous- hopes that Sherlock changes his mind. Ian’s professional impartiality has never been so close to the brink of surrender before. The sharp-tongued and steely-eyed detective occupies his thoughts entirely too much these days. It can’t be good for business, although business is actually damned good.</i>
  <br/><i>The other part of him- the man but not the Man- is infatuated with the curly-haired almost-lover who crawls into his bed to escape the nightmares of daily life. He’s not sure how much of a future there is in their ‘relationship’ but he’s not averse to finding out.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the lovely **youcantsaymylastname** for the fantastic story art that appears on her [tumblr](http://youcantsaymylastname.tumblr.com/post/36252756750/new-chapter-up-for-the-man-who-beat-sherlock). You made my week, my dear!!
> 
> My divine beta **chasingriver** is on holiday, so any mistakes in this segment are entirely my own.

 

 

 

It’s late Saturday afternoon, and Ian hasn’t heard from Sherlock all day.

He knows he doesn’t need to worry: the consulting detective and his faithful blogger John Watson helped recover a missing child on Thursday, and the story was front-page news. Ian Adler’s only concern is whether or not Sherlock will visit him as promised.

Or was that warned?

Part of him- the dark side that made him rich and infamous- hopes that Sherlock changes his mind. Ian’s professional impartiality has never been so close to the brink of surrender before. The sharp-tongued and steely-eyed detective occupies his thoughts entirely too much these days. It can’t be good for business, although business is actually _damned_ good.

The other part of him- the man but not the Man- is infatuated with the curly-haired almost-lover who crawls into his bed to escape the nightmares of daily life. He’s not sure how much of a future there is in their ‘relationship’ but he’s not averse to finding out.

As he sits in the cab, on his way home from a delightful session with the tea heiress, his mobile dings. It’s a text from his personal manservant, Allen.

_He’s here, Sir. A_

No need to specify who ‘he’ is. For Ian Adler, there’s only one.

Ian’s heart races as he composes a reply.

_Tell me everything. IA_

While he waits for a reply, he asks the driver to pull over at a Starbuck’s just ahead. He doesn’t particularly need the caffeine, but he does want time to prepare himself mentally. Maybe even spiritually.

_He said to tell you ‘it’s time’. He wanted to go directly to your chamber but I distracted him with some body modification books from the library. Thought it better to speak with you first. Instructions, Sir? A_

Like all trusted servants, Allen knows everything. He’s aware that this is no ordinary visit and that Sherlock will be offering something he can never present to anyone else again. Special preparations will be in order.

 Ian replies: _Tell Jeremy and Moira to prepare him. Inside and out. I shall be home in an hour. By the time I arrive, I want him to be in my chamber, on full blackout. Understood? IA_

_Yes, Sir. A_

The cabbie stops outside the Starbucks. Ian pays him to wait and goes inside. He orders a double espresso, adds honey to sweeten its dark bite, and takes a chair near the faux-fireplace, amidst uni students and that special brand of individual who hunches over their laptop in coffee shops from dawn until dusk. He’s conscious of admiring stares from a slinky redhead at a nearby table: she’s licking the foam on her cappuccino so seductively that at any other time, Ian might have been tempted to go over and ask if she bruised easily. But he’s got someone else on his mind right now

As he drinks the bittersweet brew, Ian imagines what must be taking place at his Kensington townhouse right now. Checking his watch, he estimates that Sherlock is presently naked and reclining in the preparation room’s sunken marble Jacuzzi while two house subs scrub him down. In another fifteen minutes, the detective will be kneeling on a thick towel, arse up and chest down, submitting to a deep cleansing enema. He won’t like it- none of them ever do, unless it’s a fetish- but he will know better than to fight the procedure or his attendants, because all of them are extensions of Ian’s will.

Heat kindles slowly but persistently in the Man’s groin. As he shifts in the plush chair and crosses his legs, he catches a glimpse of the store’s security camera on the ceiling corner, and immediately thinks of Mycroft Holmes. Ian's sure that the older man won't retaliate against him for the unexpected reversal of power during their encounter two days ago, but he knows that Mycroft will always be watching. If Ian ever hurt Sherlock in any way that wasn't begged for, they'd never find his body.

He orders another coffee, and consumes it in his own particular style: take three sips of scorching and bitter heat, and then add honey and enjoy at a more leisurely pace. It’s a ritual that parallels his professional technique: harsh at the beginning, then sweetening as the client’s surrender begins and unfolds.

A text from Allen arrives.

_He’s in your chamber, Sir. Ready. A._

A cameraphone photo accompanies the message. When Ian sees it, his pupils explode into huge black pools of lust. Blood roars in his ears. The room is suddenly too warm for comfort. He stands abruptly and hurries back to the idling cab.

“I’ll pay double the fare if you get me to Kensington in ten minutes,” he tells the driver.

The photo sears his mind like a branding iron. He tries to stay in control, but the longer he gazes at the image of that bound and graceful form lying on his bed, the more he feels the iron slip from his resolve. Finally, just as the cab is turning onto his street, Ian Adler comes in his trousers for the first time since he was thirteen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this next installment out! RL has demanded a lot of my energy this past week. But things are more copacetic now, so expect regular updates from here on.

He wants to rush upstairs the moment he enters the house, but the presence of servants mandates decorum. So he feigns patience and allows Moira, an Irish law student who serves him on weekends, to kiss his boots and take his coat. When she tells him how exquisite Sherlock looks right now, his surface calm is nearly punctured, but he thanks her coolly and proceeds up the stairs.

Allen meets him at the chamber’s door.

“He’s going to be quite _relieved_ by your presence, Sir,” the valet says. “Patience is definitely not one of his virtues.”

The thought of a frustrated, desperately hard Sherlock waiting for him only a few feet away makes Ian’s skin turn uncomfortably warm. “Thank you for preparing him.”

Allen’s appraising eye runs over his master. “With respect, Sir, I believe you require some preparation too,” he says gently.

He doesn’t specify physical or mental, but Ian knows that he needs both. He’s about to charge into the room, skin damp with sweat and semen. He needs to stop. Reclaim his composure. In other words, get ready.

“Yes,” he says after a drawn-out exhale. Allen is the only one he doesn’t need to pretend around. “You’re right. Of course.”

While Allen stays with Sherlock, Ian showers and changes into a black silk robe with jade green undertones. It’s his favourite: under the lights, the robe’s colour makes it resemble a beetle’s carapace. Battle armour, as one former sub put it. Ian has decided that it’s just as suitable for making love as well as war.

When he returns to his chamber, Allen nods respectfully and leaves. Ian doesn’t remember afterward if he acknowledged the gesture: his entire focus is on the man curled up on his bed.

Sherlock is technically naked because he isn’t wearing any clothes. But he is covered- from shoulders to toes in a sheer black silk. Under Allen’s direction, the detective’s slender body has been wrapped in strips of fabric that’s reserved for immobility fetishists, keeping his arms pressed to his sides and leaving only his arse, cock, and nipples exposed. He’s also blindfolded, gagged, and wearing earplugs barely visible through his dark hair.

Ian bites his lip. The scenario is perfect. Sherlock’s only conduit to the world outside his mind is the skin on his erogenous zones. Every touch will be amplified in those places: theoretically, Sherlock could eventually come from the flick of a thumb on his nipple.

Allen has moved a portable cart next to the bed, and laid out an assortment of toys and implements, all of them specially prepared for a sensory deprivation experience. Making a mental note to give the man a raise later, Ian picks up a soft flogger and slowly, teasingly, runs its braided tails along Sherlock’s smooth arse.

The effect is dramatic. The detective utters a choked yelp and his head shoots off the pillow. His nostrils widen as he sniffs the air. Ian doesn’t bother reassuring him- Sherlock’s hardening cock is definitely not a fear response.

“Naughty, greedy young man,” the Man murmurs, rotating his wrist so that the flogger tips brush Sherlock’s skin in suggestive circles. “Did you get impatient waiting for me to come home from work?”

Sherlock can’t hear him, but there’s a definite impatience in his reaction. He rolls onto his front and arches his back, presenting his buttocks for more attention.

“Oh, yes,” Ian continues, “you need it badly, don’t you?” He shivers with pleasure and his own cock swells just before he brings the flogger down. Hard.

It all happens in delicious tandem: the leather cracks loudly, Sherlock screams around the gag, and ivory flesh flushes scarlet. So aroused he can barely breathe, Ian strikes two more times, hitting the sweet spot where the thighs meet the buttocks. Sherlock twists on the sheets and rubs his cock against the mattress, the pain amplifying his excitement. His obvious pleasure makes the Man’s mouth water.

“I love you like this,” Ian says, tossing the flogger aside and climbing onto the mattress. “Desperate. I wonder if you taste as delicious as you look right now.”

He grasps Sherlock’s buttocks, marvelling at how hot the whipped skin feels beneath his palms, and spreads him open. The younger man’s hole is warm and pink and tight, and when Ian bends forward and touches his tongue to it, he tastes heat and innocence.


	3. Chapter 3

As he squirms, Sherlock makes noises that sound like “Oh God”. Ian opens him wider and licks careful, deliberate circles around the pucker, never pushing inward until Sherlock plunges his hips backward, trying to impale himself. Smiling triumphantly, Ian presses his tongue into his plaything’s body. Sherlock’s mangled moans are music to his ears.

He’s never tasted a male virgin before. Sherlock’s hole is musky and sweet and gloriously tight: the sphincter muscle clutches his tongue and actually pulls it deeper inside. The detective tries to spread his legs but the silk bindings prevent him, resulting in a frustrated moan.

“Dreadfully impatient,” Ian croons before pulling back, picking up a bottle of lube off a pile of towels, and replacing his tongue with his slick finger. Sherlock’s moans are so desperate and needy in tone that Ian has to give his own balls a sharp tug to keep from coming at once. He doesn’t think he will ever get tired of turning the pompous, condescending detective into a sobbing, pleading wreck.

He slides a second lubricated finger into Sherlock’s arse, holding still until the muscle relaxes enough to permit movement. Then he draws them in and out in a careful rhythm. He uses his other hand to stroke himself, anticipating the moment when that tight pink opening will be wet with lube and stretched around his cock.

“You’re exquisite, Sherlock Holmes,” he murmurs, curling his fingers and applying perfect pressure to the younger man’s prostate. On impulse he leans forward and digs his teeth into one red buttock, biting down hard enough to bruise the skin. Sherlock doesn’t appear to mind, not if his cry of ecstasy is any indication.

He takes his hand away from his cock and reaches around to take Sherlock’s instead. His palm is already slick with his own pre-ejaculate, so Sherlock eagerly fucks the Man’s fist, his hip movement driving the fingers of Ian’s other hand back and forth across his prostate. The dual stimulation has him shaking all over and breathing in short, harsh gasps.

Ian can’t hold back any longer. Sherlock doesn’t need or even want to be seduced, and Ian’s always been a proponent of the old saying ‘If it doesn’t hurt a little it isn’t really fun’.

He carefully takes his hands away, wipes them on a towel, and leans over to remove Sherlock’s earplugs. He hisses behind clenched teeth as his cock drags wetly across Sherlock’s buttocks.

“Ready?” he whispers, sliding his tongue into the whorl of his soon-to-be lover’s ear. “Are you ready to feel me take you? Feel my cock? Inch by inch?”

Sherlock’s lips are wet with drool. Ian undoes the gag and tosses it aside, all the while sliding his erection along Sherlock’s arse crack.

“Hmmm, my pet? Do you want to feel me? Say it.”

The detective’s voice is hoarse from his earlier screams. “Yes, Sir. Please, yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I want your cock in my arse, Sir.”

The phrasing is not as pornographic as what his regular clients can come up with, but its effect on Ian Adler is dramatic. He growls, sits up, and grabs a pair of scissors from the implement table. With a flash of steel and two quick snips, he cuts away the silk from Sherlock’s legs and pulls him to his knees.

“Then you shall have it,” he purrs harshly.


	4. Chapter 4

Ian rolls on a condom and smears his cock liberally with lubricant after positioning a towel to catch the overspill. “Spread your legs more and arch your back,” he orders. When Sherlock obeys, Ian can see the other man’s cock jutting out, framed by two milky thighs.

He’s never felt luckier in his life.

Ian rises onto his knees, grasps his slick erection at the base, and presses it gently against Sherlock’s hole. The detective catches his breath and tenses, but Ian pushes forward until the head pops inside. Then he stops, lids fluttering at the scorching tightness around his cock, and waits. He wants to bury himself completely in that snug, slick heat, but doesn’t want to cause the man beneath him any pain or discomfort that can’t be safely eroticised.

Sherlock whimpers into the silky Egyptian cotton pillow. “Oh- oh, that’s… Sir, please, a moment. Please. So intense.”

Ian drizzles more lube over his shaft and waits. Sherlock’s thighs flex as he rocks back and forth slowly, taking more of the latex-covered tip into his body with each backward push. Ian lets him fuck himself like that until the tension dissolves from Sherlock’s muscles and the detective’s exploratory movements become more frantic. He’s now ready for more and Ian gives it to him, grasping his shivering hips and plunging all the way inside.

Sherlock struggles, although it’s obvious that he doesn’t want to get away. “Oh!!” he exclaims. “Oh, oh God!”

“This is me owning you, Sherlock,” Ian whispers against his partner’s shoulder as his hips rotate. “This is me _fucking_ you. Taking your sweet, tight arse. Do you like this? Hmmm? Do you want to belong to me always?”

He doesn’t expect a definite answer: Sherlock has no idea what the future will hold, and neither does he. But the idea is so intoxicating that they both sigh in bliss. When Ian scrapes his teeth along his lover’s neck and changes the angle of his thrusts slightly, Sherlock cries out.

“Oh, fuck, yes…oh, please Sir. There. Right there!!”

“Show me how much you want it!” The Man’s voice is sharp. So is the blow he lands on Sherlock’s arse, but all both of them really feel is ecstasy. “Fuck yourself on me. Come now, let’s see you. You’re not a virgin any more, my pet- time to act like a slut.”

Another slap. Sherlock howls and his hips squirm as he struggles to maintain the perfect angle. When he succeeds, his mouth goes slack with bliss and there’s a discernible break in his rhythm. Ian throws his head back and swallows a moan as Sherlock’s inner walls constrict around him, massaging his cock with a wet warmth that could lead to insanity if prolonged.

He decides to torment Sherlock a little by shifting his hips and taking the cherished pressure away from the younger man’s sweet spot. Sherlock whines in frustration and fights to reclaim it. When he succeeds at last, the noises he makes are so lovely that Ian just watches, rapt, as he grinds and rotates for maximum stimulation.

“So wanton. I believe you need it a little harder,” Ian says just before he grasps Sherlock’s narrow hips, pulls out until only the wet tip of his cock is visible, and slams back in hard enough to leave them both breathless.

Ian feels his orgasm mounting, and knows that it won’t be forestalled by manual pressure any longer. So he lunges downward, knocking Sherlock’s legs out from under him and forcing both their bodies against the mattress. He snakes one arm across Sherlock’s throat, and works the fingers of his other hand under the younger man’s belly. When he finds Sherlock’s slippery erection, he grasps it.

“Come on, pet,” he urges as he strokes his lover’s cock and fucks that tight arse simultaneously. Sherlock is dripping wet: Ian’s fingers glide easily along the shaft and over his foreskin. “Let me see you come with a cock in your nice tight hole.”

Sherlock rocks so wildly that the mattress squeals in protest. His whimpers escalate in pitch until he’s screaming and he suddenly tenses all over, sphincter muscle as tight as an iron band around Ian’s cock. When he starts to come, Ian’s forearm closes off his breath: the Man knows from experience that the resulting euphoria makes the orgasm so intense that you wonder afterward if your soul has been ripped out along with your seed.

When Ian feels Sherlock’s cock pulse and quiver and spill hot come all over his fist, he roars and pushes into the younger man with a force that nearly sends both of them crashing into the headboard. Releasing Sherlock’s throat, he grunts, “Oh, good boy, yes, yes, yes!” Then he arches his back to bury himself as deeply as possible as he comes in one hot lava-hot wave after another.

He feels glorious, and as he stares down Sherlock’s glowing, flushed face, he knows that he’s not the only one.


	5. Chapter 5

Not surprisingly, Sherlock completely analyses their lovemaking afterward.

“My arse feels rather sore even though the act itself was not painful. I presume that’s normal.”

Ian tries not to laugh. “Yes.”

“Hm.” Sherlock shifts in the Man’s arms until they’re face to face. The servants have come and gone and now they’re clean, comfortable, and basking in hormones. “So that was sex. I rather liked it.”

Ian resists the urge to kiss those still-swollen lips. “That was a sexual _experience_.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen in visible curiosity. “Meaning?”

“Sex consists of several other acts too. It’s a broad term, Sherlock. It encompasses so much.” Mentally, he adds, _I hope you will let me teach you._

“Ah, yes.” Sherlock extends an exploratory hand to Ian’s hip. “We’ve never done fellatio, and there are other positions that merit exploration, judging from the pictures I’ve found on John’s laptop. Not all of them can be accomplished between two men, so we shall have to improvise. I wish to try as many of them as possible.”

It’s not often that Ian is too aroused for words, but this is definitely one of those times. If he weren’t still in his refractory period, his cock would be spearing the younger man right in the gut.

“You’re going to be insatiable,” he finally says. “I shall have to take you firmly in hand, I see.”

As he guides the Man’s fingers to his stirring cock, Sherlock gives a cheeky grin and replies, “You may start now.”


End file.
